


Not Even The Lord Can Save You

by MorningGlory21



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Gen, Lawrence Massacre, kind of mature? not too bad tho, these are small little drabbles!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 06:36:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14994971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorningGlory21/pseuds/MorningGlory21
Summary: “The bricks have fallen,but we will build with dressed stones;the sycamores have been cut down,but we will put cedars in their place.”When Lawrence was burnt down, there was so much hopelessness and terror. In the North, it was seen as the ultimate offense from the South; they attacked innocent civilians! In the South, it was mixed; Lawrence had quite the reputation, not a good one to them, but they did kill civilians, all unarmed.Evelyn saw it was the ultimate smack to her face, that she'd been too weak to save her own people. That she'd been so weak to die.It lit a fire, that'd been smoldering, in her heart and eyes. She would have her revenge, a holy one in her angry and bitter heart; it lit the fire and then set the entire thing ablaze.And then she did.





	1. A Cry of Desperation

**Author's Note:**

> Lawrence Massacre...what fun. I used a lot of Bible quotes, because a book I finished reading over the subject (I have two, currently) loved to use them. This certain event during the Civil War and the Kansas/Missouri border war is one I am very well-versed in. If you're ever interested in more specifics from the Massacre, feel free to ask me!
> 
> Now, these are drabbles revolving around the event and one afterwards. I may write more, at some point, but these are what I have so far!

> _**Psalm 88** _  
>  From my youth I have suffered and been close to death;  
>  I have borne your terrors and am in despair.  
>  Your wrath has swept over me;  
>  your terrors have destroyed me.  
>  All day long they surround me like a flood;  
>  they have completely engulfed me.

* * *

 

Crying. Fire. Guns. Her city, her people. It feels like a cloistering darkness choking her, bearing down. A nightmare she can't wake up from, and it all starts again. Crying. Fire. Guns. Her city, her people, being burned and terrorized and brutalized.

Everything feels wrong.

Evelyn wakes up in the church, surrounded by the dying and dead, with a startled choking sound. The women rush about her, the few doctors trying their damndest to save those they can. Evelyn feels the death like her her heartbeat, the pain and suffering like her blood pumping. She almost falls back again from the shock of it all, but is kept propped up by her stiff arms behind her. A woman, Evelyn knows she's Janet Parker, a seamstress. Her eyes are full of worry and she talks, hushed and scared and soothing. But…. Her voice comes out as pure noise, incomprehensible. Evelyn just stares at her, jaw slack.

Janet, with sorrow in her eyes, pushes the cup of water into Evelyn's hands and hurries away. Evelyn stares, deep and searching and pleading, into the cup of cool water. She can see a scar, round and angry looking, under her singed hairs. Evelyn tries and tries and tries to remember what had happened, while her own citizens die around her. For a bitter minute, it reminds her of those plays Seth had taken her to in Boston, with the music and dancing. The only music is weeping women, the death rattles of lost men and Evelyn's pounding heart: the dancers the bugs, thick in August heat.

Slowly, she takes a sip. Tentative, small. If she focuses on the calls of the killdeers and songbirds outside the Lord's House, Evelyn can drown out the desperate cries and her own heart.

It takes 30 minutes of trying not to collapse into panic for her to finish the water. Evelyn only feels more parched, but she isn't sure water is her cure.

Evelyn remembers a passage given to her so long ago, by the man who had raised her. A passage that stuck out to her now,

“Lord, you are the God who saves me;  
day and night I cry out to you.  
May my prayer come before you;  
turn your ear to my cry.  
I am overwhelmed with troubles  
and my life draws near to death.  
I am counted among those who go down to the pit;  
I am like one without strength.”

She feels lonely, scared, tired.

And angry.

When she looks out over the room, a place of worship, Evelyn believes herself mad. She can see… people. But they’re wrong, so very wrong. Not alive, her brains finally grasps. They’re ghosts. Like the stories she’d been told by her brother and Seth… the blonde just stares, watching the ghosts of good men flit about over their neighbors and their own bodies. Some cry out in grief, while others watch before they seem to disappear.  
Evelyn hopes wherever they went, it was better than this Hell on Earth.

And she remembers Boston, how alive and relatively safe it felt. So far away from the dangers our here. Evelyn stifles a whimper and wipes her face. No, she can’t feel that way, not now, please. Boston isn’t here, it isn’t home. But it’s safe. But it isn’t home, her lands. She isn’t willing to leave, as she’d been forced, again because of petty fears. And tiredness strikes her like a hawk finding its prey and Evelyn has to reign in her thoughts.

Laying her head down, the young girl thought of her prayers and her hands found the necklace around her throat. Thank the Lord in Heaven and all that was Holy, they hadn’t taken her necklace. It was a gift, one she’d rather tear herself asunder for than to let it fall into those demon’s hands. Partially content, Evelyn closes her weary eyes and hopes for the best.

And sleep does find her easily that afternoon, but it isn't a kind mistress: she beats and tramples and strangles Evelyn's mind. But at least Evelyn wakes up afterwards, no matter how much she may not want to.

And as she slips into sleep, it feels like Lawrence will never have the strength to rebuild.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seth = Massachusetts
> 
> He's my friend Zapphi's oc!


	2. My Work Is Never Finished

**Psalm 79**

> _How long, Lord? Will you be angry forever?_  
>  _How long will your jealousy burn like fire?_  
>  _Pour out your wrath on the nations_  
>  _that do not acknowledge you,_  
>  _on the kingdoms_  
>  _that do not call on your name;_  
>  _for they have devoured Jacob_  
>  _and devastated his homeland **.**_

* * *

Evelyn pulls herself from the church the next day, not minding the protests. She was fine, the 16 year hissed. The worried eyes of her citizens spoke their own problems, but they dispersed for church or to continue with repairs and healing.

 However, Evelyn did stay for church, clutching a cross from a father long gone. Hanging at the edges, unsure but still seeking the refuge of her Lord Father, her presence was enough for those gathered to whisper that, if Kansas herself stood, then so too could Lawrence. It made her smile and her wounds, even the most inconsequential ones, feel better.

 She watched the ghosts of lost men stay for mass that Sunday afternoon. Some, she noticed, had become resigned to their fates, but many others looked hopeful. Evelyn met their gazes and they seemed to brighten. Her exposure over the last day had gone quite smoothly, even if the spirits of men trapped beneath rafters and burning wood made her want to throw-up.

 She helped bury corpses after mass. Charred flesh, burned bones, children's heads exploded like ripe tomatoes. Evelyn feels her headache grow and grow, but she shakes away worries. She asks their spirits who they are, that she would carry on their names to the still living. Not telling them that she would carry their names in her mind forevermore, they readily spoke to her and she readily passed it on. She hoped the Lord would make their passage to Heaven easier, smoother. Evelyn didn’t have the time to pray for them when she dug, but she prayed in her head.

 She knew the Lord would hear her.

 Evelyn could feel her anger grow alongside her people, their souls being fanned by the mere act of burial. The ghosts who stayed, who were too attached to Leavenworth joined that inaudible howl for blood. They wanted to be avenged, for those damned Missourians to _pay_! She welcomed it, a soothing balm akin to her Sunday prayers, the soothing anger from her people and her people’s ghosts.

 However much she hates the Missourians, she hates this death, this loss of friends and citizens even more than the hatred burning in her heart. Her head grows light and Evelyn almost stumbles, but the young state regains herself. She has to finish.

 When the task is done, a call is sent throughout town of another wagon train from Leavenworth. Muttering what had been spoken at mass that morning, Evelyn toils away at the dirty task.

“ _O God, the nations have invaded your inheritance;_  
_they have defiled your holy temple,_  
_they have reduced Jerusalem to rubble._  
_They have left the dead bodies of your servants_  
_as food for the birds of the sky,_  
_the flesh of your own people for the animals of the wild._  
_They have poured out blood like water_  
_all around Jerusalem,_ _  
_     _and there is no one to bury the dead.”_

 Stealing once more a glance backwards at the graves, with some men piled seven to one (they didn’t have enough coffins, even with the  help), Evelyn steeled her soul. She knew, then, that she would no longer be content with simple war games. The Missourians would need to be punished, for their sins.

 Greeting groups of farmers and soldiers pouring from the countryside, Evelyn feels the mood of the town shifting. No longer is it the flagging attitude she’d felt in the church, feeling delirious and surrounded by the dead; it's a chick, slowly cracking open the egg, to meet the new world. No longer is she a yearling, stick thin legs galloping weakly, she is now a fully grown mare ready to charge in.

 As she handed supplies to women waiting, the scent of ash hung in the air. But to Evelyn, it smelled of a phoenix rising.

 It's hope.


	3. God Saw You Do That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very minor violence and desecration of a corpse. These were real events, though.

 

 

 

> Ecclesiastes 3
> 
> _God will judge the righteous and the wicked,  
>  _ _since there is a time for every activity and every deed_

* * *

Evelyn had been resting on the porch of a home that had been spared when she heard it. Felt it. The murmuring of a mob, out for blood and _angry_. The feeling excited the state, spurred her upwards towards the growing mob. They were situated around man, a noose around his neck on a platform next to a tree. His eyes were wild, scared. Those around her cried out insults, that he was a pro-slavery man. Evelyn felt a deep anger rise up in her chest, as she locked eyes with him.

The crowd parted as she neared, it felt too biblical to her. The crowd jeered and Evelyn stepped to just below the man, who stuttered.  
  
“Please! Please! I ain’t done nothing!” he begged and begged and looked to Evelyn for help. Evelyn felt anger tug at her face as he pleaded once again, “Please! If you say something, they’ll surely let me go!”  
  
“He’s a spy for Quantrill!” “Rebel!” “Confederate!” “Die!” “Kansas won’t save you, boy!”

Evelyn looked into his eyes and though he may be a simple man, a pro-slavery one however, she saw her pain and anger and the suffering of her people. If he lived, it meant one more man for the Confederates. One more man to cause pain. His mere existence was a mockery to everything Evelyn stood for.

He had to die.

“ _‘God will bring into judgment_  
_both the righteous and the wicked,_  
_for there will be a time for every  
_ activity, a time to judge every deed.’

"God will judge you, sinner. Here you are in a jury to mortals. You will be judged far more soundly. May death purify you.”

She turned away from him, her voice speaking the feelings in her eyes. Her anger, her disgust, covered any rational thinking. The man howled with the fury of a caged animal but Evelyn didn't look back. She had made her verdict and the crowd would carry out her. The crowd cheered as she edged back to the far reaches of the mob, eyes watching his as they flooded with tears. Through the thick flood spilling from him, Evelyn saw hate in his eyes as he was strangled. Saw his hate dissipate from his body as he gasped his last gasp of air.  
  
Good, something wicked in her mind hissed, now he knew how the people of Lawrence felt.  
  
She was partially expecting to see his ghost rise from his corpse, to lash out at her. And yes, while she saw his spirit, he did not linger long before passing on. Good riddance, Evelyn hissed to herself as she spat at the ground, one less rebel scum. And she watched as they dragged his corpse through town, throwing rocks and sticks and yelling obscenities at him. Even the spirits around her howled, seemingly satiated in their bloody anger. She watched as they tied his body to the tree in the park and tried to burn him. Everybody had decided that was enough and dispersed, leaving the body to rot. They’d come back later, to toss his sorry body into an unmarked grave.

It’s what he deserved.


	4. Fear's Caress

Isaiah 35

> ****_“Be strong, do not fear;_  
>  _your God will come, he will come with vengeance;  
>  _ _with divine retribution  
>  _ _he will come to save you.”_

* * *

She’d been out in the fields helping farmers. It was a normal day, the heat of the past two had fizzled out, leaving something….normal. Evelyn grappled to that, a normalcy in the face of pain and suffering. Everything was feeling better, even though her body ached and her mind raced. Evelyn was feeling a smidgen better and had even thought of writing a letter back East when she had seen those Eastern reporters.

But that had all changed when they saw the smoke. A ripple of fear had coursed throughout the entire populace at the sight and cry from men, filled Evelyn with a deep dread and illness. Even the women of the town, in their unending steely resolve, broke down and scrambled. Evelyn felt it all, in her fingers and heart when it stalled. She took a mad flight with those around her as they fell into a mad dash. Even the wounded they left behind; many fled to fields outside of town, some fled to the hills away or to Leavenworth, and a few even back home to New York or Ohio. None looked back until later.

She had to wonder what Roberto would do, in his unending bravery. But not even the thought of her idol, her self-imposed hero, could quell the absolute terror-driven flight from the slowly healing town. The only thought on her’s, and those around her, mind was to get away, and fast.

Evelyn sat huddled with a family in a field, fresh tears on her face. She felt the primal terror in them like a sickening panic. They were going to die, she was going to die and come back, and they’d surely repeat it until she’d given up. Given up to what, Evelyn wasn’t sure, but she’d be willing to give in to make the feeling of panic and sick in her belly go away. She noticed the ghosts around them, some howling alongside the living, and a great many of them silent. They were watching over them, but it gave no comfort to Evelyn.

They stood only as testaments to their suffering.

Even when a few ventured back, none dared to move. They stayed there, without fire and meager clothes, as the night settled in. And as God wished it, the night was colder than ever before. It was summer, but the temperature dropped like it was a Northeastern winter. It was so cold, but again, nobody wanted to go back. She was crouched underneath an unrelenting sky, one that bore no love for those under it. 

_ Just like the raiders. _

The memories were still fresh and tender, easily and readily opened. Simply mentioning the  _ mere _ idea of Quantrill would send everybody into a tizzy and Evelyn into a blood-thirsty haze.

She pantomimed strangling him, his face so nearly clear in her mind’s eye. How she wanted to squeeze the life from his Confederate eyes. His eyes took on those of states she knew in the Confederacy (Virginia, largely), though she was a little shocked when she could picture Beverly’s. Yet so greatly caught up in her rage, the shock was washed away. Beverly was a more attainable, closer target to point fingers at.

The cold did nearly nothing to freeze her flurry of emotions, not unlike the one starting up around her. Anger, fear, war-hunger, confusion, bitterness, a lack of control. All of it felt like bile in her belly, ready to spring up from her throat and onto the nearest and clearest target of her rage. How she wanted Beverly to understand the disgust of her actions for  _ Texas.  _ Any name of any of the Rebel states brought Evelyn to anger, and the fact that a Union state like her would want to be close to him was sickening! Beverly had family in Roberto and Martha, why did she want  _ Texas _ ? Beverly didn’t know what she had, a family that loved her, so close? Evelyn had the prairies and the townspeople, but they weren’t  _ family _ . Her family was dead or so far away.

Evelyn could feel bitter, hot tears rise up to her eyes as she pulled her knees closer to her chest. How she wanted to be inside, away from the cold. Even after they found out it was a farmer’s fire, nobody budged. Nobody wanted to. What if it was Quantrill, trying to lure them back into town to slaughter them all again? The blonde didn’t think she could handle that again, she would surely give in to them. Give in to make it all stop, to go back to her normalcy. Back to when she was little, not a territory anymore. Back with her brother.

She missed her brother, Evelyn’s heart cried out. She wanted to be safe, not squatting in a field full of crying children, weeping mothers and sniffling fathers. Not in the cold, where her nose felt runny and about to fall off.

She wanted to  _ hope  _ again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beverly = Oregon  
> Roberto = California  
> Martha = Washington  
> Bev, Roberto and Martha are hips_of_steel's and Texas is crikadelic's!  
> Check them both out, they're good friends of mine!


	5. Shame Ridden

Psalm 120

__ Psalm of a returned Exile  
_ Alas, I am a foreigner in Meshech, _ __   
_    I live among the tents of Kedar! _ __   
_ Too long do I live _ _   
_ __    among those who hate peace.

* * *

The war is over. Finally fucking over. Evelyn could almost be in a cheerful mood, but her mood is tired and flagging. A fight with Seth shot down any lingering good moods (her mind pointedly told her that it one she had done) and the return trip to Lawrence brought up the devastation in the South. Evelyn is tired of war, she is tired of fighting, she is tired of blood and death and even  _ living _ . She’d definitely thought of ending it, but of course she’d come back. And the thought of a terrible cycle tired her even more.

To put it frankly, Kansas is tired.

She’d been away from Lawrence since the Massacre, since she’d fled into the fields. She could’ve gone back the next morning, when everybody drifted in like a tired ghost. But she didn’t; she’d grabbed Prairie and rode for Leavenworth. Her livestock she’d led close to town, so they’d be taken. And then…Left behind her farm nestled in the hills and scant forests around Lawrence.

It's the first time back, since the war. And the bad memories and feelings rose up like a howling wind, sweeping away her breath. It felt like a century ago, but it’d been barely two years. When she looked upon the town, from the hills leading to, she felt so many emotions. Fear, anger, tiredness, a need for violence and a need to sleep for a millennia. 

She felt like a returned exile, a self-imposed one.

Yet she couldn’t. She couldn’t go back, not yet, not for a long time. Perhaps, one day, she’d be strong enough to bear the pain. Evelyn’s eyes traced the patterns in her saddle, then the fur on Prairie. She's stalling. For what? She’d made up her mind to not go back. Yet, a distant yearning pulled at her heart with a sickeningly sweet odor.

No! She physically pulled back and Prairie snorted, confused. She couldn’t. Even if Quantrill _is_ gone, dead and buried in the ground like the beast he was, there still lingered monsters in the shadows. They were monsters that had shot her, killed her people, brutalized them. They would linger for so long. And until they were all dead, Evelyn vowed she would never step a foot in Lawrence.

  
No matter how much she wanted to.

  
Turning away from the town, Evelyn prayed for her resolve to stand. It is her test to God, to prove she is strong. And she wouldn’t be a failure this time. She promised that.


End file.
